


Hidey Hole

by fuzipenguin



Series: Down the Rabbit Hole [6]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Major Depressive Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: It's Sidney's turn to be supportive.





	Hidey Hole

              Sunday heard a knock on the door, but didn’t even look up. It wasn’t locked. He knew there were only two possible outcomes. They would either leave or they would enter. There was nothing he could do either way.

              Twenty seconds later (and why was Sunstreaker counting?) there was another knock and then the door opened.

              “Helllloooo? Anybody home?”

              Sunday shut his eyes and sighed. Maybe if he was quiet, Sid would see the dark room and think it empty.

              He kept his eyes closed and started counting again.

              Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…

              “Sunday? Are you in here?”

              Thirty-sex, thirty-seven, thirty-eight…

              “Sunny?” Sid’s voice moved closer and Sunday scrunched down even farther, willing himself invisible.

              Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four…

              “Oh. Hey. There you are.”

              Sid’s voice was soft, not triumphant like Sunday thought it would be. It surprised him enough to open his eyes. The other boy was bent over, his face mostly obscured in the darkness.

              “You want to get dinner?” Sid asked, pointing over his shoulder.

              Sunday shook his head, dropping his gaze to stare at his pulled up knees; what was hunger? He hadn’t been hungry in days. He knew he needed to eat. He needed to keep up his strength for… to keep up his strength. But not tonight; he was tired of forcing food down himself. He could eat tomorrow.

              “Ok.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watch Sid consider him for a long moment and then solemnly nod. He straightened up and turned, walking back towards the door. As he moved away, Sunday had the urge to call out to him, ask him to say. Sunday wanted to be alone. But he also _didn’t_ want to be alone at the same time.

              Sunday didn’t say anything however, and the door shut. The room was plunged back into darkness, the light from the hallway barely penetrating more than an inch away from the crack under the door. He was just about to relax out of his defensive hunch when he heard a curse.

              “Ow! Fuck, Sunny, shoes go _under_ the bed,” Sid chastised.

              Sunday’s head shot up and he peered into the gloom, hearing the shuffle of socked feet against the tile floor. The sound moved closer and the bed shuddered as Sid ran into it.

              “Goddamint,” Sid growled, stumbling and finally falling into the little corner nook Sunday had created with the room’s furniture. He collapsed down next to Sunday, squirming around until they were sitting side by side. Sunday stared at the side of Sid’s face, his eyes once more adjusting to the moonlight streaming in through the window.

              “It’s lemon pudding night; you sure you don’t want to go?” Sid asked, fidgeting to get comfortable.

              “You don’t need me to hold your hand to go to dinner,” Sunday growled. He wished it could have been more heated, but he found the press of Sid’s shoulder against his actually comforting. It took some of the snarl out of his snapped reply.

              “No, but I should be there if you need me to hold your hand as you deal with… whatever this is,” Sid replied, gesturing to Sunday. “What is it? New meds? Episode?”

              Sunday stared at Sid, mouth open a little. “I’m not…”

              “You are. What’s up?” Sid replied, interrupting Sunday’s protest.

              Sunday’s mouth moved a little as he struggled to find something to say. How did he put it all into words? Did the other boy even deserve to hear?

              “I…” Sunday trailed off, lost.

              Sid reached out and patted Sunday’s closest knee and for once Sunday didn’t shy away from the touch. Sid’s exuberance had finally been tamed and in the dark, he didn’t seem as annoying as usual.

              “Ok. That’s ok. You don’t have to tell me. Just… let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

              Sid shifted as if he were about to leave and in a panic, Sunday’s hand shot out and clamped down on the other boy’s arm. “Don’t go,” Sunday said, voice low and gravely. It was half plea, half command, and all embarrassing. Sunday immediately released Sid, drawing his hand back to tuck between his chest and knees.

              Sid froze, his head turning to look at Sunday. His expression was hidden and Sunday didn’t know if he could look at it anyway, so he dropped his eyes again.

              “Wasn’t. Just trying to get comfortable. It’s a nice little hidey hole, but couldn’t you have brought the pillow down here to sit on?” Sid complained, settling back against the wall.

              Sunday refused to feel relief. “Orderlies notice,” he ground out, breath calming down that Sid was still beside him.

              “Yeah, I suppose.”

              Then in that mercurial way he had, Sid changed the subject. “Hey, want to hear a story? So once, there was this evil alien robot. His name was Megatron. It wasn’t always Megatron and he wasn’t always evil. Before all that, he was a miner…”

              Sid’s voice was soft and flowed so easily it was as if he were reading from a book. He never got loud although he got excited in some spots and sad in others as he weaved his tale. There were even gestures of his hands and arms, although that died down about twenty minutes in, after Sunday turned slightly and pressed his forehead against the point of Sid’s shoulder.

              The narrative paused for a split second and then continued on as if Sunday had never initiated the contact. After another five minutes, Sunday let himself systematically unclench what felt like every single muscle of his body.

              It was dark and quiet, and Sunday could take care of himself, but it was nice to think that someone would have to go through Sid first before getting to Sunday. He let himself float, half listening to the story and under no obligations to… well, to do anything.

              Dr Rung wanted him to talk, the nurses wanted him to take his medicine, the orderlies wanted him to play board games, or watch to TV, or go to sleep. Sid didn’t want Sunday to do any of that. He was just there, talking out loud, making no demands.

              And radiating heat. Only half conscious, Sunday snuggled closer. It got cold down on the floor. He’d never been able to sleep down here before, and rarely on the bed. But with the rise and fall of Sid’s voice in his ear, droning out the silence in his head, Sunday felt himself dozing off.

              The story was interesting, but not worth staying awake for. Even to hear more of the fascinating pair of dare-devil twins.

 

~ End


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